Of a darker fire, the stars burned
by Shaye Vespertine
Summary: Follows the repercussions of 'Indifference' - or the emancipation of Carol Gibson (once Peletier) and her struggle to survive; and the fierce redneck that doesn't find her when he gets back. "He was exhibiting all the behaviours of a wolf that had lost its mate." - "I can survive this; I just didn't realise how badly I was kidding myself when I thought I could survive without you."
1. And I heard your voice as clear as day

**AN: This is the first chapter of the little preview fic I posted yesterday. As you can see we now have a title! This fic takes place after the events of twd 404 Indifference - all you team carol, team daryl and most importantly TEAM CARYLERS out there will know immediately what this means! ;) I'm just starting on this ship because up until three weeks ago I'd never watched a single episode of the Walking Dead. then I began watching season four up to the second episode - after having seen a three-minute summary of the previous three seasons. I was hooked, and figured that I HAD TO watch the previous seasons, because it would just be meaningless and incomplete. So that's what I did. Went on a marathon and watched them all, then caught up to Indifference earlier this week and *SIGH*. I'm a Caryler all the way. I have too many feels right now to even begin to contemplate the enormity of what went down and what will most likely go down because of it - aka when the shit hits the fan. The reason I told you this is because I've barely read any fics out there so if this plot is in any way suspiciously similar to another author's story, I apologise in advance.**

**I wanted to thank the very sweet first four reviewers who posted their thoughts even though this fic had no title and was just a snippet, never mind a whole first chapter. I hope you all get a bigger kick out of reading the first part of the real deal ;)**

**Disclaimer: because obviously if the fate of Caryl rested in my hands and I had copyrights, the whole ship would be so beyond canon there would only be weepings of joy all over the world.**

* * *

_**Of a darker fire, the stars burned**_

_PART I_

_I find the map and draw a straight line,_

_Over rivers, farms and state-lines,_

_The distance from here to where you'd be,_

_it's only finger-lengths that I see,_

_I touch the place where I'd find your face,_

_My fingers in creases,_

_Of distant dark places,_

_I hang my coat up in the first bar,_

_There is no peace that I've found so far,_

_The laughter penetrates my silence,_

_As drunken men find flaws in science,_

_Their words, mostly noises,_

_Ghosts with just voices,_

_Your words in my memory,_

_Are like music to me,_

_I'm miles from where you are,_

_I lay down on the cold ground, I_

_I pray that something picks me up,_

_And sets me down in your warms arms._

{Set the fire to the third bar, Snow Patrol ft. Martha Wainwright}

Day 225

Run was successful. Medicine was handed out to those in need.

Hershel says they can only wait and have faith that this too shall pass.

Glenn is one of their own, but he's a tough kid, he'll pull through.

_(She does not answer.)_

It's a good thing that Michonne finally understood that she doesn't need to go out there looking for the Governor any more.

Lil Ass Kicker has put on more weight, and now she's getting to be real hefty. She's recognising voices and faces and has her favourites among those who hold her, who cuddle with her, who look after her.

_(Her face when she held her was so tender.)_ There's a pang in his chest; a hitch in his breathing.

Rick –

But no, he ain't going there. Too much heartache lies there. And he's okay: he's gotta be.

_(No, no, no.)_

His crossbow strung securely on his shoulder, he hoists himself into watch tower three. It's his nest.

The others won't know this, but it will be many hours before he will descend and mingle with them again.

* * *

Day 226 – nearly.

There is a certain series of smell that he immediately looks for, does not find, and misses.

The cooking, for one.

He has a little leftover bread that had been baked painstakingly two days previously. It was nothing special. It had some herbs in it, and those little dried tomatoes he liked so much. It was a small loaf – barely bigger than a roll. He'd wondered over to the cooking site straight after the confinement of those who'd come down with the sickness. The bread was coming out and she was placing it on various trays, just about anything she could use. It smelled fucking wonderful.

She saw him out of the corner of her eye, but didn't turn. The reason he knew she'd seen him was because her spine straightened subtly and the muscles around her mouth relaxed into that quirky little smile she seemed to reserve for one or two people.

_(Really, it was just for him, but this he does not acknowledge.)_

He'd braced himself with his palms down onto the counter, looking over all the bread loaves she'd taken out. He said something to her – about them smelling good maybe. One or two looked a little overcooked. This he did not point out. She was busy, (so was he, they were always busy), but he knew she liked having him near every now and again when things were slowing down (he secretly liked their quiet moments, but he wouldn't tell her this.)

She'd straightened, looked over her work, and sighed in satisfaction. 'A good haul; should last us for three days if we're careful.' He doesn't remember what went on after that.

He takes the little loaf of bread she'd wrapped up in a flowery hanky only the Lord knew where she'd found it, and given it to him.

He'd looked into her eyes, silent, small smile – they didn't need more than this to understand each other.

He'd told her the girls, Mika and Lizzie, were safe and settled well, all things considered. She'd remained quiet, a sombre pensive look on her face, then walked into him and put her arms around him. His eyes had closed slowly and he'd put his own arm around her. The smell of baked bread and warm, caring woman had engulfed him. He'd given himself four seconds to inhale it and savour the closeness, then he'd stepped back, picked up his wrapped up loaf and walked towards the block, whistling a tune.

Three days later, the loaf of bread is still soft enough to be easily chewed. When he unwrapped it from the hanky and brought it up to his nose to smell, his reaction to the scent was shockingly powerful. He unconsciously closed his eyes and in his mind's eye saw her face, tired and worried, and her storm-cloud eyes looking at his with that little gleam. He remembered that embrace, the feel of their bodies pressed together, the faint flowery scent of her short hair, and the wiry strength in those arms.

_'Daryl.'_

He hurriedly opened his eyes and put the bread down. Her breath ghosting over his throat – he could almost believe he'd really felt it just now. His gut tightened and his fingers clasped the hilt of his knife. They squeezed it rhythmically and then he started tapping the pointed end on the ground.

He carefully re-wrapped the hanky around the little loaf of bread and stashed it into his backpack. The night was quiet and he felt the call of the wild; but tonight there was no answering call within him. Tonight, it was silent.

* * *

Day 238

_(And I heard your voice, as clear as day, and you told me I should concentrate. It was oh so strange and so surreal.)_

Subtly the dynamics of the tightly-knit group – the family – had shifted once more.

Daryl Dixon was a standing pillar of strength and as vital as food and safety. He was the provider. He was the protector. He was the fighter.

Rick tried to draw him into discussions or just plain conversations. At the beginning of their acquaintance there'd been nothing but barely restrained violence at best. Then came the mutual respect; they'd established a close relationship, brothers-in-arms. They knew they could depend on each other. They were both the strongest and most capable of the men along with Glenn in their group, and this made it easier for the bond to be forged.

Daryl Dixon had always been taciturn at best, a man of few words. He would open his mouth and people around him would immediately know that whatever he would say would be worth hearing.

Nowadays, Rick talked to Daryl.

Daryl nodded his head brusquely, shook his head minutely, and stalked off pretty soon, a grimace on his face as though he'd tasted something rancid. Rick on the other hand would always look at him walking away with veiled regret.

Theirs was a pack. In nature, wolf packs were structured in much the way their group was. There was the alpha – the head dog who decided what's what – his beta, the second-in-command, and then all the way down to the hunters of the group, the caretakers of the pups, and then the weakest in terms of rank, the omegas.

In the last few weeks their group had found it necessary to re-structure itself in order to fill in the empty place of Carol Peletier. This reverberated all the way throughout the larger community of people who lived in the prison.

Daryl Dixon might not be officially the alpha; the role of the beta had always suited him best within the team's dynamics. He'd always followed Rick's lead.

Today Daryl Dixon was closer to being a lone wolf. He fulfilled his role and the necessary jobs that were his alone; but he'd distanced himself from the head of the pack.

Very few saw this shift in ranks, Daryl's behaviour at large, and understood it for what it was.

Hershel Greene was one of them.

He'd once studied wolf packs in the harsh forests of the north, on a work placement for summer straight out of college – way before he met his wife and settled down.

All the behaviours that Daryl was (probably unconsciously) exhibiting fit in with a certain kind of wolf. The wolf that lost its mate. Withdrawn from the rest of the pack, its steps towards protecting it and keeping up with survival … mechanical at best. Like an automaton.

Hershel saw this, and was worried. Dogs that had been caught in a trap wouldn't let you help them. They'd snap at your hand sooner than letting you near 'em.

Worst of it was, Daryl was in pain, but Rick tiptoed around him in a way that made Hershel think that he expected the other man to one day snap out of it. Like he didn't need to do anything about it, because one day Rick would wake up and all would be right as it was.

There was one fundamental flaw in his way of thinking though: wolves sooner or later became mated pairs again, for the survival of the ranks, for the survival of the pack itself. Daryl Dixon was no wolf. Once mated, his kind mated for life. And unlike Rick's deluded thinking, there was no convenient turning back of the clock to be had.

Essentially it came down to this – the day Rick exiled Carol Peletier, the group lost not one member, but two. Daryl was physically here with them. But his heart was no longer with them. It likely roamed the wild plains outside the prison in search of his lost mate.

Hershel knew it in his aching bones. There was no coming back from this.

What Rick did…it couldn't be undone. The true consequences of his actions that day were yet to manifest themselves – but when they did, it could go very badly for their family. He prayed. He did it quietly, at night before bedtime, when he was alone and could simply be. He prayed for their group, for Daryl who had lost his chosen life mate, and for Carol…wherever her soul may be.

* * *

_- cherokeerose - - cherokeerose - - cherokeerose -_

* * *

_This is the diary of Carol Solaine Gibson._

_I've survived the Apocalypse of Walkers._

_I was a wife and a mother._

_I will write this journal of survival;_

_my survival in this dark and uncertain world we've been cast in,_

_for as long as I am me._

_May God have mercy upon my soul._

Day #1st 

I drove all night.

What else could be done – the dark is the most dangerous time in this barren wasteland I stand on.

When I came across a dwelling I stopped, checking out empty houses.

Found three packets of bacon, well preserved, and some cheese biscuits. I was really lucky.

It was dawn by then, so I figured it would make for an excellent breakfast. - - - - - - - - - - -

I got back on the road afterwards, and not too late neither; saw this herd just on the outskirts of the little ghost town.

Shame about breakfast though. I puked it back up.

I wiped my mouth clean, and fervently wished I had toothpaste, or even gum to fight the horrid taste. Then I prayed for my girls.

I prayed for Lizzie to get better. And I prayed for the Lord to give Mika strength. This was a promise I wanted to keep. I'm not sorry about what I did.

But I have to keep moving.

It's just me now. I have to look out for myself.- - - - - - - - -

* * *

_- cherokeerose - - cherokeerose - - cherokeerose -_

* * *

Day 240

Newcomers.

They were getting everyone's hackles up.

People complained that it was beginning to get crowded.

Food was scarce. And people were still sick. Nobody seemed to be getting better.

He decided that either way, whether the newcomers got to stay or not, he had his duties, and he'd carry on doing them. Just because a bunch of strangers had stumbled upon the community didn't mean that his life had changed.

It didn't mean shit. He had his jobs – and he had his team.

Michonne was eager to get off grounds again. He couldn't say he blamed her though.

The little sanctimonious, holier-than-thou puppet show Rick was running was ridiculous to say the least. Acting like he was all high and mighty and the choices that he made were wrong but he din't get punished for 'em … he wanted no part in this joint.

There was a storm brewing inside him. And people better fuckin watch their stupid-ass step, or he'd beat their ass into the fuckin ground.

Yesterday he overheard some parents discussing Karen and David's murders, and Carol's part as the culprit specifically. 'She prolly dead by nae. It's exactleh what she desurve. An to think we put our babies' in her hands! They's murderer hands, stained with blood! If she wuz still hyah, I'da—'

He didn't even stop to think. He walked up to that sumbitch and got right in his face, breathing hard, seeing red. Little punk was shorter and stared up at him, cowering in fear.

'What you say? Huh? What _was_ you gonna do? Huh fucker? Go on. Why don't you fuckin come right out and say it to me, right here to my face.'

He could hear distantly, as though through glass, someone shouting his name. His hands were fisted in the man's shirt, and he actually raised him off the ground, shaking him.

One of the man's friends suddenly ran in and brutally clipped his temple. He stumbled and the guy fell on the ground. Then all hell broke loose.

Suddenly it was him against three men, and three men against him.

Then others joined the fray, trying to break up the fight. He thought he saw Tyreese send one of the men flying, before a shot rang out. Ranger Rick had arrived.

And his recriminations against him piled on and on.

'What the hell has gotten into you, man?! Going aroun' beatin' up people too weak to fight back, that ain't the Daryl I know!'

Daryl wiped the blood that was trickling from his nose, and violently threw the hands that were still holding onto his arms. Then he did a one-eighty turn and walked away.

'Daryl! You can't be doing this! You got nothin' to say for yourself, for what just happened? Daryl! I'm _talkin'_ to you man!' Rick went after him. He was still blinding himself to the fact that somehow along the way his relationship with the redneck had changed once more, and this time in a negative way. He still wouldn't see what his actions had brought about.

So when Daryl suddenly turned and head-butted him then sucker-punched his guts, he lay on the ground, deeply stunned as well as in considerable pain. You didn't mess with Daryl's fists. The man could pack a mean punch.

'I don't know what the hell has gotten into you, BUT WE AIN'T HAVIN THIS AROUND HERE! _Do you understand me, Daryl_?'

Daryl stopped walking again, went utterly stock still, back still facing the man who was getting to his feet. If his tone was meant to cow him in any way, he had another thing comin'.

His voice resembled perfectly the menace he posed, although he never raised it. 'Yeah well seems to me like ther're a whole _lotta_ things you _ain't havin_ aroun' here, huh? Like when someone don't follow a direct order, just because it happen' to come from you, _Farmer_ Grimes. What I do ain't none o' yo damn business any more, you got it shit-eel?'

'You think you so fine and righteous, but you's an eel just like everybody else in this hella _fucked up _world.'

Rick's face turned puce and his eyes grew vicious, matching Daryl word for word.

'The fuck you say! The fuck's gotten into you?! I've been keeping these people alive for the past mo-'

'_Fuck you!_ You ain't my master, I sure as shit ain't your bitch! People aroun' here do only what you say goes, amiright? Once maybe it mighta been like tha'. But this stops now, s'far as I'm concern'. I don't answer to you and your martial laws, _sheriff._ This ain't your call. Jus' like gettin' an exclusive say over who stays an' who goes ain't your call either. But you like that, dontcha? You like steppin' over other people. You kept us alive? Yeah that was before. That was _before_ you kicked outta here someone who's been takin' care o' all us, who did more in the last few months to meet the people's needs than you did when you decided to play farmer.'

Comprehension dawned on Rick. '_Carol?_ That's what this is about?!' Derision and disbelief warred within him at this turn of events. All of this heat over that traitorous she-jackal?!

He bolted forward and shot his fists out; one grabbed Rick's collar and the other he shook emphatically in his face. But his voice got even lower, and if anything even more deadly. He was a wild card, always had been. It's just that Rick had forgotten this. He thought they were past raising questions about Daryl's motives and behaviour.

'You say her name like that one more time. Go on _I fuckin dare ya_. Say her name like that one more time in my presence, you goan lose all the teeth in ya pie-hole. Yeah, thas' what this is all abou'. You chasin' her outta here like the wors' of criminals, when you…you did a lot worse than what she did. But nobody says anythin' to you. Cause you're _Rick fuckin Grimes,_ our so called _leader!_

Leader of what? Someone who keeps steppin' up and down whenever the whim take him, dependin' how he feels when he wakes up on a day? That ain't no leader o'mine.'

Daryl pushed him away aggressively, murderous intent on his face barely held in check.

'You get to stay here, despite the fact that we've lost a lotta people based on calls that you made. Well, Carol had just as much right as you! She _earned_ the right to this place in the last few months working herself_ something awful_, bendin' over backwards tryin' to get everythin' done! You said she's dangerous and can't be trusted? You put her out there and left her by herself. You killed her. You a murderer in cold blood, just like her. But if she gets the boot, why don't you grab that kid o'yours and hightail it _outta_ here?! We don't need ya. You can't even bring yourself to look at that baby girl, and Carol's the one who took care o' her when you decided to go cuckoo. People walk around you on eggshells, but I ain't scared of you Rick Grimes. I'll never forget this. I sure as shit won't forgive what you did to her either. Not while I got breath left in my body. All the things she's done…that woman is worth _ten of you_.'

He spat blood out of his mouth whilst he held Rick's shocked gaze and then stalked away towards the tower he'd taken to occupying exclusively.

What had been left behind by Carol was now scattered amongst various people. He didn't even want to look at Maggie anymore because she'd been the one to distribute her things.

Fuck them. Fuck them all.

They got rid of her faster than a stinkin' walker, leaving no space for anything to do with her. But he wouldn't have her memory tarnished. No one was gonna speak badly about Carol as long as he was around. And frankly, the blood on her hands was just as much on Rick's hands as hers. She did what she did because she saw that he failed to step up when he was needed the most, and to protect the group, she did what she felt someone had to do. If Rick hadn't had a complete melt-down just as things began getting hairy, Carol wouldn't have reached the conclusion that she had to go and shoulder burdens that were never hers to take on.

But he blamed himself too. And the self-hatred was slowly eroding him down to the bone. He should have been there for her. He should have protected her – he'd sworn he would. That's where he should have been, right by her side. He can't forgive Rick for putting out that edict to kick her out on her own, but then he couldn't forgive his rotten self either. Because he'd promised her dammit. He'd promised he would protect her in this world, no matter what. Even from herself.

He took out a necklace she'd left behind and rolled the beads in his fingers, like his mama used to do with her rosary when he'd been real little. His eyes stung bitterly.

They were pure, her and her little girl. The only real pure things –there were so few- left nowadays in this rotten world. And he failed first Sophia (not a day went by that the name alone didn't haunt him), and then her mama.

He clutched her necklace convulsively and then gently opened his fist. He looped it around his own neck and hid it under his shirt, resting on his skin. Then he took one of her scarves and tied it like a neckerchief around his throat.

When he went to sleep that night, heart heavy and stomach leaden, his pillow smelled of summer nights in a field and Cherokee roses.

* * *

AN:

End of Part One, check back within a couple of days, because parts two and three are written out already. Thanks again for your comments, your follow stories, follow me's and favourite story, it means such a great deal to me, especially because this is my first Walking Dead fic. I usually ease myself into writing for a fandom with a series of one-shots, but this plot just won't stop buzzing around my head, and I think it deserves being written and posted in the hopes of building up a great audience that will truly enjoy reading it. So thanks.


	2. I'm still human (I'm dying here)

**AN: Just wanted to thank all those people who have reviewed the first ever chapter, especially those of you who came back after they read the preview. It made me so happy to get such positive feedback and that those of you who did, took the time to leave me your thoughts. **

**It means that there is an audience out there reading my story; it's not just the lonely ramblings of a writer. I hope you like this chapter - but I have to warn you, it gets more intense than the last. **

* * *

_PART II: I THINK I'M STILL HUMAN (I THINK I'M DYING HERE)_

Day #5th

Everywhere I turned there were walkers.

I never thought I'd see the day, but apparently this apocalypse isn't done with me yet. It forces me to do things I never would have dreamt of doing in my wildest dreams, and rather always hoped to avoid in my darkest nightmares.

Today I got treed out of sheer desperation. The herd that came out of nowhere would have made a quick snack out of me, if we hadn't been thankfully surrounded by trees on the right side of the road. They gave chase, but I was quick on my feet.

Then again, I don't kid myself that there wasn't a huge amount of luck mixed in there, too. I'm no marathon athlete, and frankly at my age sprinting full pelt through a forest (there's no more treacherous ground than that) in the darkness of the canopy, is not my ideal way to start the day.

It seems that the Lord sees fit to put this on my path, too. I tried to remember a prayer my grandmother had taught me when I was a child. It's just as well I had no luck with that; God … well, I haven't been on speaking terms with him for a while now.

So as soon as I knew they'd lost sight of me around a densely foliaged corner, genius struck me and I started climbing the closest, tallest tree I could find. And the trick worked. They couldn't see where I went and pretty soon (minutes? Hours?) they left, and I could chance getting down. I honestly didn't think I was quite so agile. Frankly the climb up that tree is sketchy in my memory at best. Still trying to figure out how I got up so high so fast but…Maybe it's better this way.

The fire is small and not very bright, but it helps keep away the chill of the night, and fights off some of the loneliness. In the morning I'm going to break camp and search some more. I think it would be more helpful to find a map, but I wouldn't know which direction to take to find shops. Unless I headed towards the cities.

I won't do that unless I absolutely have to.

Ha.

The old Carol – Carol Peletier, she would have probably died by now, blundering her way through this journey, getting bit. Or she simply would have given up and let the end come without fighting back.

But I am Carol **Gibson**.

Solaine Menard-La Roche was my grandmother. I have her name. And most surprisingly of all, I now know I also have her strength. It will come in very handy. Carol Peletier would have been no one and wouldn't have gotten very far thanks to Ed. But that was before.

I think Po—Daryl would have been proud to see the fruits of his labour - or the crash course he gave me on 'how to survive in the wild and not get caught by ugly-ass munchers.' Oh, he did know how to make me laugh. I wonder-

**Note to self**; have to find new clothing gear next time I hit a shop. Sturdier boots and at least another two pairs of cargo pants, because these didn't survive the impromptu tree climbing.-

* * *

- cherokeerose -

* * *

.

_Oh morning come bursting the clouds, amen_

_Lift off this blindfold, let me see again,_

_Bring back the water, let your ships roll in,_

_In my heart she left a hole._

_(-)_

Day 246

He had to bury three people today.

And two others the day before.

So it looks like, despite newcomers finding refuge within the community, they won't necessarily have to worry about supplies and food; the newbies just replace those that die. It's a balanced equation.

By nightfall one more grave had to be dug.

And he – he was almost glad she wasn't here to see this. Losing this one would have shattered her heart, just like back when Sophia died. The kid's sister is inconsolable. Won't let anyone near her, and cries for Carol.

He just gripped her little shoulder as she sobbed and told her that she'd have to go on regardless, because the world didn't wait for you to get strong; he reflected that too often it came outta nowhere with the strength of a freight train and if you were lucky, you had enough strength to see it come and jump outta the way. If you weren't so lucky…you poor bastard. He'd huffed and awkwardly patted the girl's back then walked towards the cell blocks. He passed others by without truly sparing a glance for any of them. Females' tears always made him want to leave a building.

And if he thought of Carol, her little Sophia, of Carol's own tears, and that she was needed here more and more each day – if he thought that he understood the little girl's aching longing more than he would ever say – it was something he tucked away inside of himself, to be buried before night-time came, and the dreams pounded on his door.

* * *

- cherokeerose -

* * *

.

.

_The tightrope that I'm walking just sways and ties,_

_The devil as he's talking with those angel's eyes,_

_And I just want to be there when the lightning strikes,_

_And the saints go marching in._

_Slow it down._

_Through chaos as it swirls._

_It's us against the world._

_(-)_

Day #7th

Found a good refuge.

Tiny little suburb like this, hardly even a town, I didn't think there'd be a library here. Looking at it from the other side of the road, I thought it would probably be full of nasty surprises inside.

But it turned out to be completely empty of walkers. I locked the doors behind me, drew the blinds and bunkered down on an comfy couch.

There were shelves everywhere, and it was surprisingly well-stocked considering it was in the middle of nowhere. There was a novel lying abandoned on the front desk, probably left there by the very last person that read it before this place was abandoned. _Juliet Marillier_, it read.

I was in good company.-

_Daughter of the forest._

Irony has no bounds.

Daryl would have liked this.

And Sophia would have clapped her hands and rejoiced when the main character, Sorcha, finally put the last shirt on the last brother and saved their lives from the wicked step-mother's spell.

I suppose I was feeling down so much that it was inevitable to find similarities between my situation and that of a fictional character's.

Abused by her family, driven away by a wicked step-mother who hurt her brothers and made it so that she could only see them in the flesh and talk to them only a handful of times per year. Granted, no brothers of mine were turned into swans for 360 days a year, but.

I too have struggled and lost much before finding my inner strength. Reading about her journey to a different land full of perils and strangers brought back sharp memories of the Greene farm, which I thought I'd managed fairly well to put behind me. The search. The finding. My shield; my gallant hero. My little girl gone forever.

Anyway, the girl returns to her home eventually, all six of her brothers safe and sound and human again – save the one she was closest to, who because of bad stroke of luck, or a hand dealt by fate had gotten the last shirt which wasn't completed, and so he remained half human and half swan, forever maimed. And the gallant hero? He goes in search of her home throughout his enemies' lands. And he finds her. And they all lived happily ever after, and all was well with the world.

Stupid book. Making my heart clench like that. The longing alone could quite easily kill me sometimes. Just a glimpse of his face. A ghost of a touch of his rough, capable hands – the gentlest man's touch I have ever known, for all his rough edges and blustering. A peek at his eyes. I can just smell-.

Once more. Just one last time. One last look at that bigger-than-life redneck, traipsing around with that crossbow like he owns the land his feet tread on. One last time the sound of his voice.

_God. Forgive me father, for I have grievously sinned._ This is my punishment.

There is a quote in that novel. It just about makes me shake with the accuracy it describes my feelings with: "It matters not whether you are here or there, for I see you before me at every moment." My fingers ghost over my mouth. I should stop – the tears are making the paper blotchy.

I want – I need –

Is this what's it's like to love a man?

When you close your eyes and he is standing there in front of you…when you put your arms around him and hold him so close and just the imagined smell that is so distinctively his makes your heart calm and your body ache…when his voice in your ear soothes something inside you, you didn't know needed soothing?

Is that what this is?- - -

* * *

- cherokeerose -

* * *

_._

_Like a river to a raindrop,_

_I lost a friend,_

_My drunken has a Daniel in the lion's den,_

_And tonight I know it all has to begin again,_

_So whatever you do don't let go_

_(-)_

The next day he made sure to find a few moments in his busy schedule to go see the little girl. When he found her, she wouldn't look him in the eye, still grieving the loss of her family, both natural and adopted. He didn't linger; just took one of her small hands into his and pressed a tiny figurine into it.

'I can't see anyone else havin' this.'

She looked at her palm, and promptly burst into silent tears at the sight of the object. They stood there for a little while. They both mourned – and now they both knew that someone else out there still cared for her, still thought of her, still wished she were here. Rick and his son Carl turned the corner and came upon them in the corridor. When they saw the odd pair they stopped talking and an awkward, tense silence filled the air. Then Rick came forward and murmured that he was sorry about her sister. But that she also wasn't alone, and if there was anything she ever needed, or if she just felt like talking, she could come to him. Daryl silently scoffed, but looked at the walls, mouth set into a hard line. As far he was concerned, he had no reason to look at that scumbag and nothing to say to him either. Honestly these days he found himself wondering more and more if it was Carol's image, always before his eyes, that stayed the violent impetus of his hands, itching and murderous.

The child looked uncertainly up at Rick. His son Carl hadn't even bothered to come forward at all, choosing instead to hang back where he'd stopped. Didn't even have the decency to come and talk to the 'kid', looking bored as usual and apathetic. She then turned towards Daryl standing beside her and sort of burrowed her way into his side, turning her face away from the other males, her hand clasping something tightly. The Grimes' soon left after that.

Daryl looked down at the floor then glanced down at her head. _'Sometimes they just need kindness. Sometimes they just want someone to show them they care. Children are so easily hurt. I gotta protect them… because otherwise…who else is going to do it?'_

His mouth firmed, and for a split second she was there too, whispering in his ear all these things that he wouldn't otherwise be good at doing. So he moved his arm and hugged the little girl close to his side.

When they broke apart, she had a wan smile on her little pale face. First she clutched the angel figurine that had belonged to Carol, no bigger than a thumb, caressing it gently, and then looked up at him. 'Thank you Mr. Dixon.'

He nodded. 'She couldn't have wanted anyone else to have this lil' thing more than you.'

He was no good at telling stories. Carol doubtless would have told the girl the angel's history, why it had meant so much to her. Carol wasn't here now – and Daryl was doing his best. He had no stories to tell children. So he squeezed the little girl's shoulder and was off to patrol duty.

* * *

- cherokeerose -

* * *

_._

_And if we could float away,_

_Fly up to the surface and just start again_

_And lift off before trouble_

_Just erodes us in the rain,_

_Just erodes us in the rain,_

_Just erodes us and see roses in the rain,_

_Slow it down._

_Slow it down._

Day #8th

I will never see him again.

_This is just the beginning. It's never going to end. This ache – I'll carry it inside me for the rest of my natural life on this earth._

Daryl.

I don't have the courage to say your name out loud, even though I frequently talk to myself now. I just, I close my eyes, think it in my mind, and it automatically makes me hug myself, shoulders hunched, closed eyes seeping tears.

I can survive away from the group. Maybe not for long, but I can do it. My daughter was bitten by monsters, and the two girls that followed her in my heart are now parentless in this world. It cuts me deep. But I can survive this, all of it.

I just didn't realise how badly I was kidding myself when I ever thought I could live without you.

This – is not life. This – is barely existence. - - - - - - - - -

_Through chaos as it swirls_

_It's us against the world._

_through chaos as it swirls_

_It's us against the world._

* * *

**AN: Quote take from '****_Daughter of the Forest'_****, by Juliet Marillier. Song lyrics belong to Coldplay for '****_Us against the world'._**

**Don't forget to review, I would love for the larger audience out there to drop me a line :)**


	3. Solace

**AN: thanks so much for the lovely reviews you guys, I really appreciated every single person who took the time to tell me what they think of this small, humble beginning. Both here and over at AO3. A special mention goes to **citrusgum **for commenting on my writing style and how it affects the way the story is read. Thank you, you wonderful person!**

**DISCLAIMER: obviously the series don't belong to me, none of them. I own this plot which stems from a general background of the Walking Dead and particularly the events of Season Four, but the ideas themselves will probably veer very much from canon events. And any OC's I come up with...those I obviously own. Thanks for thinking about sueing though!**

* * *

**_Chapter three _**

_SOLACE_

_"Now the ragged vagrants creep into crooked holes to sleep: just and unjust, worst and best, change their places as they rest: awkward lovers like in fields where disdainful beauty yields." – WH Auden._

Day 250

"You're going out again?"

Daryl stopped and glanced back as Michonne walked towards him on his way to the gates.

He nodded curtly and adjusted the crossbow on his shoulder. "But you know we don't need any more meat for the next three days. Is it for the baby?"

Daryl looked ahead at the link mail of the fence and the trail that lead away from the prison into the wilderness beyond. "No." He replied curtly and started walking again. Michonne realised he was making his way towards the bike. That could only mean that this wasn't no hunting trip.

At that moment Rick came upon them on his way back from the gardens. He couldn't tear his eyes away from either Daryl or the direction he was clearly going in. Daryl didn't spare him a look. He rubbed the back of his neck to ease the stiffness of his muscles some.

"Where are you going Daryl?"

Daryl packed his equipment onto the saddlebag and only turned his head a fraction of the way towards Rick. "Scoutin' the area."

Rick looked down at his boots. The sun was peeking feebly behind heavy clouds, and the metal parts of the bike shone dully under his gaze. "You did that yesterday."

Daryl's hard sneer was challenging and direct as he finally looked at Rick. "And today I'm doin' it again. Shit. You got something you wanna say to me?"

_Alpha, don't. Don't try to pull rank on your beta. He would just bite and struggle harder to slip away. The lone wolf is not to be contained. You ran his mate out of the pack, away from the relative safety of the den. He'll go out looking for traces of her. You know this._

"I've spoken to the others. We reckon the Governor is still a possible threat. We don't know for sure that he's left the area, even if Woodbury is burnt to a crisp."

Daryl straddled the bike and started her up, his strong profile facing forward. Behind him, Michonne twitched at the mention of her old foe, and she looked almost enviously at him sitting on his bike – probably because he got to go out, and she was itching for just the excuse to hunt the Governor down.

The bike growled under her master. "I'll pass on your regards if I see 'um."

He opened the throttle and shot away, through the gates and into the road beyond.

_He could overpower you so easily and claim the position of alpha for himself. But you know he won't do that. He was never interested in the position, nor the complicated delicate webs of hierarchy of this society. But once you take away his closest affection, what are you going to hold over his head to make him stay?_

Rick clenched his teeth. To Michonne, he looked defeated. And the tighter he tried to pull on that leash he thought he had on Daryl Dixon, the more the other slipped away.

Rick hadn't expected for Daryl to take it like this. He knew it wouldn't be easy for them to lose Carol, and he knew that the two were the closest of friends, but this…he'd never seen this coming. He couldn't have missed this! There was no way in hel-

But yet he had. Somehow, he'd missed the sort of attachment Daryl had formed with Carol, had completely misjudged the bond they now shared. There were so many things he'd missed in the past year. He slapped his gloves against his dirty jeans, eyes lost in front of him. He had to be more vigilant. He had to return. But the truth was that since he woke up in that hospital, the world under his feet not only crumbled, but it seared the soles of his feet. His wife's betrayal, his best friend turning ferocious foe, then him and Carl losing Lori … and the others; losing the farm, losing their own. Life here at the old prison was hard, harder than it had ever been for them at the quarry, or at Herschel's home. He just did not know how to do any better than what he was already doing.

They'd lost Carol. His mind still reeled at times just thinking of what she'd done. If he'd been more vigilant, this wouldn't have happened. He knew that. He knew that it was his fault for giving off crazy ass vibes to everyone, so she thought she had to shoulder burdens she could never be equipped to handle. And she made the wrong choice, the worst choice. And he'd had to make one too.

Now they were losing Daryl too. And not for the first time he wished Lori was still here. And Andrea. He'd never be able to stop himself from wondering how different things mighta been if the both of them had survived.

* * *

_-°°- cherokeerose -°°-_

* * *

She was curled up in the thickest part of a forest, fast asleep with an old blanket tightly wrapped around her and over her head, tucked away inside a burrow under the roots of an enormous tree.

Her blade was strapped to her hip and her body was curled in a foetal position to ward off as much of the cold air as she could.

She'd lingered in that tiny suburb for as long as she could, but those few days spent under a roof and safe behind walls had been short-lived. The library wouldn't provide much protection should walkers come stumbling about. And there was only one exit; even if she could have somehow found a way of securing the building from external walker attack, she'd have made herself a sitting duck with no other route for escape. Not two days after she arrived in the little suburb she heard the unmistakeable sound of gunfire way off into the distance, probably a mile away from the library. She rushed to the windows, cautiously keeping a look out for any straggling walkers to turn up out of the blue. From her vantage point she could make out the highway into the near distance. The sight that met her eyes chilled her blood.

The biggest herd she had ever seen was blowing through right at that very moment, bigger than even the one they'd found themselves in where Sophia had been forced to run off into the woods.

Much bigger than the horde of walkers they'd had to clear out from the prison. And if she squinted she could make out a small group of them huddled around a vehicle. Even from this distance, their intent was crystal clear to her. Whoever had fired the shots, would now be turned into walker chow.

She gathered her things and was out of the tiny dwelling before the walkers had even finished their meal from inside that vehicle.

She drove for hours, not risking as usual to stop for anything on the road, especially because all she could see around her was forest and big-ass pine trees. But she hadn't checked her fuel level. Just before dusk hit, her car sputtered to a halt and drew to an ominously final stop. When she checked the fuel level she hit the steering wheel angrily several times, cursing. Debating her next move, she reached the conclusion that she couldn't risk staying in the car at night, just in case she hadn't managed to put that herd behind her. After gathering every single bag she could safely fill and carry, she shouldered her small load, strapped her knives securely to her waist and thigh, then made her way into the dark forest.

She'd stumbled around in the dark for a while before coming across the safest resting place she could find. It had probably served as a burrow for some large animal at one point, but tonight it would be the place where she'd sleep and recharge her batteries. Come morning, she'd carry on into the woods. Travelling on the roads unless you had yourself a sturdy vehicle was pure madness these days, whether you were trying to keep away from the dead or the living.

The dampness of the cold earth seeped into her bones despite the thick blanket she'd brought with her. But whatever mysterious forces were at work in this apocalyptic wasteland that was their world, tonight it kept her safe from harm. A subtle wind whispered through the trees as she tried to fall into a light enough sleep for her to shoot up at a moment's notice. She fancied that the whispers through the branches and the pine leaves were the song of some benevolent spirit of the forest that would watch over her passage.

_Be still and know that I'm with you. If morning never comes to be, be still, be still, be still. If you forget the way to go and lose where you came from…be still, be still, be still, _they seemed to say, in hushed lullaby tones and touch-less benevolent caresses.

When she would next open her eyes Carol – though she didn't yet know this – would be faced with having to make a choice, and though it seemed straight-forward enough, it would mean (depending on what she chose), either her salvation – or her perdition.

* * *

_-°°- cherokeerose -°°-_

* * *

Michonne stood and waved her sword in welcome when Daryl rode back into prison grounds that day. He secured his bike and then dismounted with the jaguar's ease of the predator in him, though from where she stood he looked tired and more aloof than ever.

She understood that there was something about his character that made him avoid mindless chatter. This she'd known from the get-go. Silent, dangerous and nowhere near stupid was Daryl Dixon.

She respected the guy. He was strong. He was fast. He was smart. And he provided. He had the most level head in rough situations she'd seen this side of the apocalypse, and that was a mark of favour in her books.

"Good haul?"

Daryl looked at her locks and grunted, nodding as he walked past. His bags were definitely fuller than they had been when he left. She turned to one of the other guys on watch across the other side of the field and gave the all-clear, pointing her sword up at the sky and then down with both arms pointing to her left, to give the signal that Daryl had returned and all was good.

When he got up to the blocks he met up with the guys, and made sure to hand over his findings. Each would separate the stuff into neat piles according to genre: foodstuffs, utensils, clothes, medicine, and then take care of stocking what could be used in the future or distributing what was needed at that moment. The kids would be especially happy today because he'd brought back some yummy treats that were more unique than rare these days. He could hear their delighted squeals behind him. He spotted Beth and made his way over to her, tickling Judy's cheeks before handing her the baby things she needed. Beth thanked him and cooed to Judy as she made her way back to their cell, talking quietly to the little girl who babbled in her arms. Daryl headed over to his own solitary cell. He stood at the entrance for a moment, watching the two bunk beds lingeringly.

The whole place was a bit chaotic and cramped with clothes, weapons, bits of food and what little personal belongings he had scattered everywhere. His own top bed was dishevelled, sheets jumbled up and stained or torn here and there.

He entered the cell and slowly walked over to the bottom bunk and kneeled beside the mattress. It was neat and made-up the way it had been left. There was a flash of red fabric peeking from under the fluffed up pillow. He carefully tugged it out with his fingers, feeling the softness of the material through the roughness of his strong, callused hands. He'd touched it in much the same way once, months ago when he'd found it abandoned on the floor next to what he'd believed to be a puddle of her blood; a marker that she'd been bit and died just like T-Dog.

Nowadays the weather was getting cooler and cooler. Winter would soon be upon them. He removed the neckerchief around his throat, now soiled and in desperate need of a wash, and after grabbing a change of clothes, took it with him to the showers. He just felt better if he wore a scarf, like he was more protected. Not from the walkers, shit like that wouldn't stop 'em tearing a chunk outta his throat. But it was hers; and it made his chest feel all warm. Even if his stomach flipped whenever he consciously thought about her at all, and it made him restless because he would then turn around and scan the room in search of her, knowing that he wouldn't see her and-

He thought back to the jasper stone he'd meant to … Hell.

She should have been just another ghost that haunted him in a line of many. But none of the others lingered the way hers did. She was constantly on his mind. Sometimes he'd remember seeing her doing her chores, or a conversation, or one of their wittier moments, just the two of them tucked up close in comradeship for protection from this violent new existence; battered weapons though by no means blunted. Other times, he liked to imagine what she would have done or might have said in a given situation had she still been here.

And it made him angry. He was just so _angry_ all the time. It was something he'd known all his life, this desire to lash out at people or vent at the world, but it had affected him so much stemming from a person he'd grown close to. He didn't grow close to people, except his brother. People hurt you. They didn't care. Or when they cared, they still walked away from you with no fucks given about your sorry ass. He got that. He was used to that.

But her.

She understood him in a way no one ever had, or probably could. Because they were so similar. Both victims of people in their lives who instead of loving them proper, _as they should_, tortured their flesh and trampled on their spirit. For the first time in a long time, someone listened. For the first time in a long time, someone cared. He felt safe. Like he had a purpose, a goal to fulfil, and that steadied him. A safe port away from the storm.

But if he found her – if JC ever made it so that he would see her again – see that she was whole, that she was safe, that she was still _Carol_…nothing would ever rip her away from his side ever again, short of death or walkers. Nothing.

"Daryl? You up here?"

Daryl looked over the railing onto the floor below. "Yeah."

"We need you down at the library. We're having a meeting in ten, gonna discuss the Governor."

Daryl looked away and clenched his jaws in barely repressed frustration. The frickin' Governor, sure, that was all anyone seemed to fuckin wanna talk about these days.

"I'll be there."

* * *

_-°°- cherokeerose -°°-_

* * *

Carol stretched out the kinks in her back in any way she could, careful to keep sharp eyes and ears on the surrounding area for signs of danger. She broke camp, gathered her stuff and started walking again. From what Daryl had taught her about using the sun to garner a sense of direction as well as the time of the day, it was early in the morning – there was still that sharp bite to the air – and she was heading north. She just hoped she'd be lucky enough to find a viable shelter today. Walking in the forests by yourself with only a few knives at your side as your only weapon did not a strong chance of survival make.

She ate some fruit from her backpack at some point and drank some bottled water, careful to stay hydrated without overdoing it, and scanned her surroundings every now and then for signs of a nearby creek.

The forest itself was quiet despite the time of day. What timid sounds the animals made were few. She supposed that they too had realised that the world they now lived in had gotten helluva lot more dangerous, and they adapted in accordance.

She walked on for miles, careful not to trip and to tread as soundlessly as she could, even though the forest floor itself wasn't as treacherous as it could be. Her hand never strayed far from the knife at her side.

All things considered, she'd had a good morning. No people or walkers whatsoever. But no sign of anywhere she could settle down permanently. Not even any signs of close settlements, small towns. She'd still need to be somewhere near to a town in order to find herself a vehicle for supply runs.

It didn't help that in her haste to escape the potential and very real threat of the massive herd she'd neglected to look around for a map to take with her. Now she had only the vaguest sense of where she was exactly in PickensCounty.

By the time the sun was high up in the sky, she'd found a trail and the ground became steadily steeper to climb, signalling that she was nearing a mountain range. She didn't know if that was a good thing, but figured that if it was high up maybe it would mean less chances of running into walkers. It was easier for them to shuffle their way over flat ground, because their rotting corpses were easily breakable – less chance of accidentally losing a much needed limb, or rolling down hills. She envisioned walkers just tucked into revolting balls of putrefied meat being rolled down a steep hill, gaining momentum and groaning at the repetitive head-over-tails movement, losing a hand or an arm here and there. She chuckled. And wondered if she was slowly but surely turning mad with the choking loneliness of travelling by herself in a dangerous world, no group, no affections, no friends. No family. No one to care for her in the whole world, no one for _her_ to care_ for_.

Pretty soon she came at a fork road.

Carol looked right, where the path went down a gentle hill back into flatter ground; then she looked left where the path kept leading straight up a narrow way to a hill that got steeper. Fog permeated the area now, and it got denser the higher up she went. Should she risk it and carry on climbing?

This was a bad idea, she could already tell. If the fog thickened and worse came to worst, she could lose herself out there, walk in circles, get hurt, or get ambushed without her realising until it was too late. But.

If she did climb, maybe she could safely get to the highest point, reach a look-out where she could see what lay around her for miles, and then decide which direction she would best head in.

She looked down at the path on the right. That was safer. She could see where she was going. But the forest was dense and the trees butted into each other's space. She could potentially walk for days without truly knowing if the direction she was heading in would lead her to a useful place.

Then she looked up to the left, the narrower path, with fog shrouding her sight half a yard away. She remained utterly still, and utterly undecided. Then she shook her head. The old Carol? She knew what she would have done under the circumstances. She brought her chin up, her decision made, and then walked into the unknown.

* * *

**AN: remember what was written earlier on in the chapter, about Carol being faced with making a decision pretty soon that would either save her or condemn her? Let's hope she makes the right one ;)**

**Your thoughts and criticisms are deeply appreciated, please chip in and keep this writer motivated!**


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